


kiss me.

by lonelyheartsclub_com



Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: M/M, first kisses!!, pfft amanda is a lesbian in this she's just a really touchy friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:40:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27815464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelyheartsclub_com/pseuds/lonelyheartsclub_com
Summary: bertie wells is starting to move on from stephen bampton, and it seems he's fallen in love with that rakishly handsome indian boy that helped him up during a game of rugby.
Relationships: Harold Mukherjee/Bertie Wells
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	kiss me.

**Author's Note:**

> this is like an alternative version of their first kiss lmao pls do not @ me

Bertie Wells was good at rugby. He was nimble and lean and was able to outrun anyone. He was also quite muscular and was able to knock the ball out of almost anyone's hands. He was the star player of the Cambridge team. 

Until the Allegations. They came around and the cheering he'd get from the stands became slurs and harassment. But he kept going anyways. If he could just get the bloody ball to Harold-

Someone came barreling into him, knocking the air out of his lungs. There came a loud cheering noise from the stands and Bertie knew what they were thinking. 

_Good on him for knocking the faggot over. Shame he had to touch him for that to happen, though._

Where Bertie had clocked his head on the damp, muddy British soil of the playing field had started to ache. Harold came rushing over to him after holding his hands up in the air, probably to call a time out.

"Bertie? Are you able to speak?"

Bertie swallowed and opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His heart started to beat faster, and Harold leant him his arm. Bertie took it and leaned on him, Bertie's head on his broad shoulder and his arm slung around the other shoulder. 

"I'll get you to San. You might want to look at your leg."

People jeered. There were a few words that Bertie didn't want to hear that were clearly directed at Harold, and other directed at him. 

Bertie winced and looked down to see a huge gash on his leg with blood and dirt all over it. He wanted to be sick. He swallowed and tried to speak. "Harold, don't take me to San. Please. Your dad's a doctor, right? You must know how to clean a wound up!"

"That doesn't mean I want to, Wells. But for you, I suppose I'll make an exception-"

Someone threw a piece of paper and it landed square in Harold's face. He frowned and smoothed out the piece of paper. There was a slur scrawled on it. James had thrown it. 

Alfred came rushing over, and Amanda had hurried out of the stands. 

"You alright, old chap?" Alfred asked, paling when he saw the wound. 

"Of course he's not, half wit!" They had all hauled him to the locker rom, but Bertie could see something was up with Harold. 

Amanda and he had done a passable job with the bandages, and Alfred had been there for moral support although he had no morals. ("Rude of you to say, Wells!")

Amanda had kissed him on the forehead and promised to beat the shit out of whoever crashed into him. Harold said nothing. 

"Harold? Could I talk to you?"

He turned and leaned against the locker, and Bertie could see how flushed his face was. It sure as hell wasn't from rugby.

He shrugged, as if to say, "Go on."

"Alone?"

Alfred whooped and Amanda grinned. Alfred stayed back to whisper, "Get some, Wells." before Amanda dragged him off and chided him. 

"The fuck is up with you? You're fine one minute and the next you're angry."

"Some cunts called me slurs. I think I'm allowed to be mad."

Bertie hesitated. He hadn't considered that. 

"I'm sorry."

"And because you're bad for me. But I can't stay away from you. It's like something draws me to you, even though it means I get twice as many slurs."

"Have you ever considered that it's because you-"

"I know why." He muttered something in a different language. Bengali, Bertie remembered. 

Then he kneeled in front of Bertie and took his hands. 

"It's because I'm in love with you." he whispered. Bertie swallowed. 

He wanted to pull Harold into a kiss by the front of his rugby uniform. But then he remembered the last relationship he had.

That ended in red and blue flashing lights, the sound of handcuffs clinking and Bertie choking on his own tears. He flinched. 

Harold softly put a warm hand on Bertie's cheek. 

"You're not scared of me, are you?" Bertie shook his head numbly. 

"Of course not. It's just...Stephen Bampton. He used to put his hand on my cheek and whisper comforting words and he killed someone."

"Well, I'm not him, love." he whispered gently.

"Yeah. Thank God you aren't."

He smiled faintly. "Can I kiss you?"

Bertie nodded. "Be my guest, love."

And so Harold leaned up, his hands on Bertie's chest, and kissed him. Bertie had fistfuls of Harold's black hair in his hands and was going to deepen the kiss when-

"Go, Bertie!" 

Alfred was leaning against the frame of the door, a glint of menace in his eyes, and he cruelly smirked. 

"Knew you'd get some."

Bertie had to be help back by Harold or else he would've killed Alfred in cold blood.


End file.
